


All That I Am, All That I Ever Was

by Admiralish



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Manipulative Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29562375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiralish/pseuds/Admiralish
Summary: When Kiku realizes Yao doesn't remember him anymore, he realizes this may be their only chance.
Relationships: China/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	All That I Am, All That I Ever Was

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet gripped tight and raised from the howling pits of Google Docs hell.

“Who are you?”

His fingers curled tightly on his lap, nails digging into the palms. Ten little fangs, befitting of a snake.

“Hello, China, Where The Sun Sets. I am Japan, Where The Sun Rises.”

In the orange light of the evening, in the golden light of their eyes, it would seem like dawn was all around them. Sweat gathered along his brow like dew, smoke rising from a forgotten ashtray like the mist that hugged the mountains, and, between two bodies born of soil and stone, was the first blush of a new day.

Kiku had been given a second chance.

**. . .**

They were right when they said Yao did not remember, but they were wrong when they said he may not feel himself for a while. Yao would always be himself. There was no other way he knew how to be. He still took his tea in the same style, still combed long fingers through dark hair like he didn’t know what else to do with them, still carried himself as befitted a son of heaven. He was unwell, often in bed, often in pain, but he was always going to be himself.

“Is there anything else you need?” Kiku asked in a soft voice. “I want to help you in whatever way I can.”

“How long do you intend to carry on like this?”

_As long as I can._

"That doesn't answer my question, China."

Yao laughed. It was tired and it was hollow, but it was still Yao’s laugh. “I’m telling you, I don’t need you to serve me forever. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but…” _But this is what I deserve._ “...I like taking care of you.”

“Mm. It is a shame I cannot keep you then. I would’ve enjoyed having you as a servant.”

“You can keep me as a friend.”

Yao smiled, the click of his tongue is playful. “Don’t tempt me, Japan. I just might.”

The title was all at once familiar and alienating.

**. . .**

Yao’s weakness was a blessing, his bedridden state made moving about the house simple. Kiku searched every room, emptied cupboards, pulled out drawers, gathering up the evidence. Any traces of him, any traces of them. Photographs were the most obvious, but the letters, postcards, and address books would have to go as well. Anything with his name on it, anything with _them_.

He had kept more than he realized. His first box had been too small, the New Years cards, hastily scrawled notes, and all the documentation of their strained, diplomatic relationship spilled over the edges, scattered across the tatami like blood. This house had become a crime scene, but Kiku had more to bury than just one body.

He found another box. Wooden, sturdy, and beautiful. A proper resting place. A casket of memories, befitting the funeral procession for his past life that this unexpected cleanse had become. The hawk carved into the lid had talons outstretched towards his trembling fingers. Something about these papers was predatory. And like every prey animal on earth, if he wanted to be safe from them, he would have to learn how to hide.

**. . .**

As long as his people did not fail him, as long as his nation did not break apart beneath his feet and sink forever into the sea, he would not die. This was a truth he had understood, in some ways and not in others, from the day he had set foot on this earth.

His brother had explained it in more detail. Yao was always so fond of proclaiming his vast knowledge, but these were never the sort of lectures Kiku was familiar with. This wisdom was hissed through gritted teeth, spoken in fingernails that dug into skin. 

When he was a child, it was a warning. This world was dangerous, Kiku had been told. Do not tread too far, stay where brother can see you, can watch you, can protect you. The earth shifts, islands sink, even gods can be killed.

As he began to thrive, those words had grown with him, turning into a threat. Do not test generosity, do not abuse patience, do not lift your head if you don’t wish to lose it.

Yao had seen much in his time, Kiku knew that. There were students before him, brothers before him, and Yao had assured him, there could always be one more after him as well.

_Nations are not reborn_ , _Kiku,_ Yao had told him, a silken palm like a blade against his cheek. _When you return to dust, you won’t get another chance._

The fragility of his so-called immortality had been an obsession. To watch his fingers, from the skin down to the bone, crumbling, breaking apart, reducing themselves to dust, with no way to gather up the tiny crumbs of his body and make himself whole again, was a vivid night terror. Shaking in the darkness, holding himself, like he may begin to fall apart if not bound together.

Back then, he really thought his brother knew something no one else did. Held some fount of blessing on a mountain, the secret to true immortality. He had seen civilizations come and go, rise and fall, and yet remained unburdened by the passage of time. He was older than any of them, the wellspring of culture and the mother of nations, an untouchable, unchanging greatness.

Kiku really didn’t think he ever had a chance of hurting someone like that.

But, as luck would have it, even gods can be killed.

**. . .**

It was beautiful to live a life without consequence. To live a life cut free from fate, forever out of karma’s reach. Days passed peacefully, joyfully. Yao was smiling, Kiku missed that. Yao was always nearby, Kiku had missed that even more. They spent evenings on the engawa again, God, it had been centuries. They watched the moon. When Yao told him about a rabbit, forever grinding away at a medicine that would grant eternal life, Kiku had agreed. It was a wonderful thing to live life like a happy dream, to float through the mortal world, to see these familiar gardens with new eyes, to be gifted a new life.

Yao’s nimble fingers twirled over the stem of a flower, musing over the petals. Yao so loved things that were beautiful. He hummed, pink lips pursed.

“Japan, Where The Sun Rises... Sometimes I get the oddest feeling like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Kiku felt those ten little fangs again, sinking into his palms, threatening to break the skin.

Yao seemed so content here, so happy.

“Maybe in a past life… Perhaps we’ve always been good friends,” Yao’s fingers snapped the head of the flower away from its fresh green stem, Kiku could’ve sworn he heard the shattering of bone. The chrysanthemum was slipped behind his ear. Kiku felt like he was carrying a corpse. “Maybe we could’ve been brothers.”

The petals were like silk against his temple, Yao’s pleased smile was like the sun.

“I’m sure we would’ve given each other hell,” Yao laughed airily, taking Kiku’s hand and leading him further down the path, further into the trees, further into the thickets that were beginning to feel dreamlike and hazy, like he was walking through a memory. “Don’t you think so, Japan? The way brothers do.”

Kiku had only been hung once. He should be grateful, he had heard others had experienced far worse at the hands of their countrymen. Humans are scared of things they do not understand, they are even more afraid of something they cannot kill. He remembered the scratch of the stray threads, the tightness around his throat, his own weight used against him, crushing his windpipe.

He could feel that rope again now, he could feel himself falling.

“I think that would’ve been nice, China,” Kiku said, breathing through the strangling sensation.

**. . .**

  
  


_Some things are better off dead._

That’s the only excuse he had. The only farewell given to three thousand years of history, to the box of memories, laid to rest in the crypt of his closet, to that hawks’ watchful eyes forever guarding his treasures, to the telltale heart beating in the walls. He dreams about it now, he dreams about finding it left out somewhere, on the table, on the floor, by his bed. He dreams about trying to hide it, trying to reach for it but it always slips away. Every picture, every card, every long-winded letter sent with love across the sea, spilling out across the hardwood. There are too many, more than he ever remembered, he can never seem to gather them all. He dreams about Yao, asking him what he’s got to hide, his smile like the sun, burning him.

It replaces the fear of crumbling, the terror of sinking into the sea.

He can hear it, beating in his ears, pounding against the closet door, so many hands, so many fists, pounding, banging. It shakes the house. Kiku is afraid one day the walls will come crumbling down on top of them. Yao never seems to feel the tremors, never seems to mind the howling. Every day, Yao smiles, offers tea, offers company, places a hand over Kiku’s, rests his head on his caretaker’s shoulder, loves him. Loves him so purely, so gently. Yao drinks him in with wide, golden eyes. Thanks him, thanks him every day.

“For all you’ve done for me,” Yao hums, idly brushing his thumb over the back of Kiku’s hand, gracing over the many veins. “I really am grateful.”

He almost stays quiet, almost allows this moment to pass them by. Allows himself to forget, allows himself to enjoy.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You’re so hard on yourself!” Yao laughs like a bell, his hair bounces around his face. “When are you going to lighten up?”

Every day, Yao smiles.

And that smile is so warm, so comfortable, so familiar, that Kiku can almost smile back.


End file.
